


Find Yourself Smiling

by out_there



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-16
Updated: 2008-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She should discuss it with Alex, but then she'd have to talk about Wyatt, about the screams, about his conscious choice to inflict pain on a living human being, and Sara doesn't know how to do that without accusing, without blaming Alex for doing exactly what he promised he'd do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Yourself Smiling

**Author's Note:**

> There are references to the torture of 4.09, which might not be "graphic descriptions of violence" but I thought best to warn for too much than too little. Spoilers for 4.09. Set directly after those events. Thanks to [](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/profile)[**sdwolfpup**](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/) for an amazingly fast beta and for a fantastic ear for characterisation.

Sara remembers Alex before they caught Wyatt: the tightly crossed arms, the tension-white knuckles, the air of concentration as if each step leading him closer was the most important thing he'd ever do. She can't fool herself that she thought it would end any differently than it did -- Alex left alone with him, the occasional screams, the warehouse empty by the time Michael got back -- but she thought Alex would be different. She thought...

She thought killing Wyatt might set Alex free. She thought it might give him a chance to breathe without clawing his fingers into his biceps, without curling in on himself as if he might shatter.

She thought it might let him rest without ghosts, but Alex spends more nights pacing the warehouse, staring at blueprints. When she sees him in the mornings, he always looks tired, weary, eyes bloodshot and hair feathered from running his hands through it while he thinks. But then he showers and shaves, and by the time Michael wakes up, he's drinking coffee and looking presentable.

It's not Sara's place to talk about it, so she doesn't. She's not Alex's doctor and even if she was, she wouldn't discuss this with someone else. Possibly, she should discuss it with Alex, but then she'd have to talk about Wyatt, about the screams, about his conscious choice to inflict pain on a living human being, and Sara doesn't know how to do that without accusing, without blaming Alex for doing exactly what he promised he'd do.

***

Michael comes back from the next mission, face stony and blank. There's anger simmering under the surface, tightly leashed and almost hidden, so Sara announces she's going to the docks. It doesn't take Michael long to follow her, to stand behind her and lean his head against the back of her shoulder. To take a slow, uncertain breath and wrap his hands around her forearms.

"That's the second time," he says, and he doesn't sound angry anymore. He sounds scared and overwhelmingly young. "Second mission since Wyatt, and that's the second time Alex has charged off."

Sara frowns, not sure what Michael's trying to say. "He left you in danger?"

Michael lifts his head from her shoulder, shakes it and then presses a kiss to the back of Sara's head. "No. But he's not working the plans in the same way. He's not playing guard, he's playing executioner."

The idea of it -- of Alex running off to kill Company agents -- Sara doesn't know how she's supposed to react. The longer they live like this, the harder it becomes to know the difference between what's right, what's necessary and what should never be considered. This whole mess makes her feel sad, makes her mourn for the memory of knowing she was doing something good.

"He nearly missed the rendezvous. We almost left without him," Michael says softly. That's the core of this, and there's something reassuring about having Michael here, about understanding his priorities and how he'll always see the world. Alex killing the bad guys isn't an issue for Michael; potentially losing Alex, especially if it could be avoided, is the problem that needs to be solved.

"Maybe..." Sara sighs. She crosses her arms, folds her hands over Michael's, smoothes fingers over the goose bumps there. He never brings a sweater, she thinks absently, he never considers the wind-chill from the water. "Can you do the next job without him? Plan for Alex to stay at the warehouse?"

"I'm thinking we should talk to Self. See if we can get Alex out of here."

Sara's first thought is that Michael might be right: sending Alex back to jail might be best for everyone. Her second thought is that someone who can kill so easily should probably be behind bars. Her third is that Michael would never, ever do that, not now that he knows the man, not now that Michael's saved him from Sona and Wyatt, not now that Alex has saved him in return. "You think you could talk Self into an early parole?"

"Alex deserves it," Michael says simply, as if that should be enough.

As if life delivers what everyone deserves.

Sara's learned to be grateful that it doesn't. Second chances are most precious, most needed, when they're undeserved. "You don't think he'll argue that Alex is too useful to let go?"

"He might." Michael shrugs and holds her a little tighter. "I'm sure I could convince him."

The water stretching away from them is grey, growing darker and reflecting the overcast sky. Sara glances at the clouds, thinks it'll probably rain tonight. "Maybe you should run it by Alex first."

Michael nods against her hair. "He'll understand," Michael says, and Sara doesn't try to correct him.

***

After they eat, Michael clears the table and starts looking at new blueprints. Sara recognises the earliest stages of planning: Linc and Michael around schematics, thinking aloud and tossing impossible ideas between them like jokes. To Linc, that's exactly what the ridiculous suggestions are: stupid jokes shared in black humour. To Michael, it's a challenge, a mental exercise to try to work out how to achieve the impossible.

Normally Alex is close-by, standing to the edge or sitting at the end of the table, scribbling down his own notes, listening to the brothers but rarely interrupting.

Sara walks up to Michael's chair and stands behind him. She leans down and speaks softly enough that Linc can pretend not to hear. "Where's Alex?"

"Outside." Michael doesn't look up from the diagrams spread in front of him. Either he's immersed in the lines and measurements, or he doesn't want to discuss this with Linc sitting there.

"Okay," Sara says, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before she leaves. She picks up a jacket on her way.

Outside, it's raining but the breeze is fairly warm, so she leaves the jacket open as she walks around the protected edge of the warehouse, searching for Alex.

She finds him curled up under the metal stairs, sitting on the concrete with his arms wrapped around his knees. It's a defensive position and the expression on Alex's face as he stares out at the rain makes Sara pause. Alex doesn't like being vulnerable in front of people. Not that Sara's met anyone who likes feeling vulnerable, but she's noticed the way Alex tries to hide it from the rest of the group, especially Michael. When Michael's around, Alex is always busy: pacing, tapping a pen, leaning over the table to study plans, scribbling on the whiteboard. He keeps his shoulders down and back, keeps his back straight, tries to act as if he's the go-to guy, as if his only priority is getting the job done.

But when Michael's safely out of sight... She's seen the way Alex huddles, his shoulders curved in, his arms wrapped around his chest, his features caught between misery and fury. He looks caged, as if he's holding himself together by sheer willpower, as if the slightest of pressures could break him. She remembers how he looked while she talked to Wyatt, that frightening intensity barely held back.

It makes sense that he'd rather sit outside, regardless of the weather, than be inside and let Michael see this.

She steps closer and Alex tilts his head, meets her eye. There's something painfully sharp and brittle in his expression, something fierce that reminds her of Kellerman and Gretchen. It scares her a little bit. It scares her more that she knows what he's capable of -- she heard Wyatt scream -- and yet she still cares for him. "Can we talk?"

"I don't think there's anything to say," Alex says. "Michael already explained."

"Yeah?" Sara asks, smiling despite the situation. "What Michael says and what Michael means can be very different things."

"Michael said that Self's going to sign my release papers, make my freedom permanent. What he means," and Alex takes a breath, turns away to stare at the falling rain, diagonal streaks catching the light of the waterfront, "is that he wants me off the team. That I'm a liability. That it's safest for everyone if I'm far away."

Sara should reassure him, should explain, but she's a doctor. She's trained to save people, to heal them. And she stood outside the warehouse and listened to what Alex did, listened to the screams of a grown man, and did nothing. "Is he right?"

"It doesn't matter," Alex says calmly, but his hands tighten around his knees. "I wouldn't... I wasn't taking risks with the team's safety."

"But you were taking risks with yours. That's why he's asking you to leave." It's kind of awkward standing up, having this conversation looking down on Alex, so Sara squats beside him. It doesn't make her feel any more at ease, but it means she can look him in the eye. "He'd rather have you gone than hold your hand and watch you die."

Alex isn't Brad and he isn't Roland. He isn't some guy stupid enough to make obvious mistakes. He's someone Michael cares for, someone very smart; if something happens, it'll hit Michael hard and worse than that, Michael will find a way to feel responsible, to twist it into somehow being his fault. Sara can't stand by and let that happen.

Sara doesn't say any of that, though. Alex should be smart enough to understand it.

Alex tucks his chin against his kneecaps, watches her sideways. "You want me to play it safe?"

Sara picks her words carefully. "I don't want you to be something else that Michael's worrying about. I don't want Michael trying to fight the Company, and his health, and your desire to go down in flames. I don't want him stretched so thin that he makes a mistake. I don't want something happening to him because he's trying to save you from yourself."

Sara stands up, pushes her hair back, but she can't look at Alex. She can't meet his eyes. She doesn't want to know what she'd see there.

"If you're staying," she says, trying to make this gentle, to make this sound like the choice it is, "you need to get it together. Michael's struggling to get through this. He doesn't have the resources to drag you through as well."

Sara walks inside knowing that sometimes people need to hear the truth. She also knows that people don't always choose to hear it.

***

In her dreams, the thunder roars and water drips between the wooden slats. She's wet and cold, trying not to shiver. Her arms are handcuffed above her head, weight pulling at her wrists, cold metal digging into colder skin, and she's waiting. There are footsteps behind her. The sharp click of high heels pacing back and forth.

The heels stop. There's no sound but the rain and the thunder. Then there's the crack of leather, agony rushing across her skin, and Sara sits up, awake. She looks around, and for a moment she's lost, she's trapped, and then she recognises the narrow cabin of her boat, the soft weight of blankets over her lap. She keeps her eyes open, tries to calm her breaths -- make them deep and slow, not fast and scared -- and gets out of bed.

She grabs sweats, then changes her mind and pulls on jeans. She wants to wear the thickest material she can find, wants to hide her shivers and scars behind metal buttons and hardy denim. She pulls on the biggest sweater she has -- one of Michael's, actually -- and goes to get a drink.

Climbing out of the boat, she realises the storm is real. The metal roof of the warehouse echoes loudly with raindrops, making it sound as if it's raining nails and coins, not water. It's louder than the sound of the tap as she fills a glass.

There's a noise behind her. She hears footsteps and spins, lashing out, but Alex is faster. He stops her with one hand around her wrist, thumb curled flat beside his fingers, arching over the back of her hand; he's not holding her wrist, just stopping it from connecting with his face.

Sara pulls her hand back. "Sorry," she says, and wraps all ten fingers around her glass.

Alex shrugs, pulls out a chair from the small, round kitchen table. "Didn't mean to surprise you." He sits down, and then waves a hand at the empty chair, inviting her to join him.

They've spent a few nights like this. Alex doesn't sleep much and Sara... has more nightmares than she wants to tell Michael about. When they talk, they never talk about anything important. They compare favourite songs or political beliefs, describe what they got for their tenth birthday; they talk to distract themselves from Alex's son, from Sara's scars. But if Alex doesn't start looking after himself, soon it's going to be just Sara sitting in the kitchen at night. It's selfish, but for a moment it makes her angry; she doesn't want to have to face these dark hours alone.

She sits down. "Talk to me."

Tapping one long finger on the formica table, Alex asks, "What first attracted you to Michael?"

They don't usually talk about Michael, but it's an easy topic, something far away and long ago. "His eyes," Sara says, remembering how bright they looked in the harsh infirmary lights of Fox River, the way she couldn't help noticing how handsome he was, despite the prison uniform. They're old memories, familiar things that let her shoulders relax as she grins. "His smile. Well, his mouth, really. His hands. His sense of humour. But the first thing was his eyes."

Alex nods, taps his finger twice.

"And you?" Sara asks, because she's curious. Because she wants to know. Because it feels fresh and new to see Michael through Alex's eyes.

"His right wrist."

Alex sounds perfectly serious, but Sara nearly laughs. "Just the right one? Not the left?"

"First time I noticed I was attracted to him," Alex explains, leaning back in his chair. "I was staring at a photo of his right wrist, trying to decipher the tattoo, and I found myself thinking that I wanted to see it in person. That maybe it would be easier to understand if I could reach out and touch, if I could trace the letters. For a moment, I imagined... Well, it wasn't professional interest," he finishes with a shrug.

Sara thinks about that: desire observed and connected to such a small detail. Sometimes she forgets there's someone else watching Michael as closely as she does, but it doesn't stir the jealousy she used to assume she'd feel. Alex cares for Michael but it isn't a competition. He's always considerate of Sara, trying to make things as easy as they can be. Instead of making her worry, it makes her feel safe knowing there's someone else taking care of Michael, someone else invested in Michael's happiness. Someone else who tries to protect Michael as much as possible.

"Are you staying?"

"Do you want me to?" Alex shoots back. It catches her by surprise but before she can reply, Alex adds, "Michael's told me I'm going, you've told me that if I want to stay, I have to get my act together, but you haven't said if you want me here."

"You think I don't?"

"I think this is the first time we've sat and talked since Wyatt. First time you've spent more than five minutes alone with me."

Alex ducks his head, almost contrite, and Sara has to ask, "Do you regret it? What you did to Wyatt?" She desperately wants him to say yes, to agree, to say that it was a horrible thing to do to another human being, to any living creature. She wants to know this isn't something he thinks is acceptable, is right in certain circumstances.

But he says, "No."

He says, "I needed to," and Sara's heart breaks just a little.

"I can't condone it." She shakes her head, stares at the table. Doesn't want to look at him and doesn't want him to see how much this horrifies her.

"I don't expect you to. I wouldn't ask that. I just--" Alex shrugs, stares out at the dark, empty warehouse waiting through the open doorway. "I wondered if you wanted me gone. If it would make things easier."

The unspoken offer is that he would leave, if she wanted. If she and Michael don't want him here, he'll leave and make it easier for them. It's a noble, selfless sentiment and it's one of the reasons she wants him to stay. "I don't want you gone. I want to understand why you-- I want to know why-- Self had it. He'd made the call. You didn't need to do any of that."

"I promised," Alex says, voice low and rough.

"Who would want a promise like that? Who would want you to--"

"Pam." Alex swallows loudly and Sara snaps her mouth shut. Falls silent and waits for him to explain. Waits for Alex to lift his head, stare at her hard and say, "I always told her that she was safe with me. That if anyone hurt her, I'd make them sorry. I promised her I would find the monster that did that to our son, and I needed her to know it was done."

"So you tortured him?"

"Until he apologised to her. Until he'd say those words to her."

"And then what happened?" It's the question Sara hasn't asked, the question Sara didn't want to know. She stood there, listened to the screams, and when she couldn't take any more, she walked to the docks and stayed until Michael called her and said he was coming back. She didn't have the courage to ask what happened, to ask how it ended.

Alex looks surprised. Not wary, not suspicious, just surprised by the question. "Burying a body would have been too messy, too hard to avoid someone noticing. I drove to the water, weighed him down, pushed him in."

"That was it? After the call, you didn't..." Sara can't finish the thought, can't put words to her own fears.

"I didn't beat him to death," Alex says, sounding reassuringly shocked. "I needed him to apologise, and after that, we needed him dead. We needed the threat eliminated and I needed to know he couldn't do that to anyone else's kid. It wasn't... It wasn't painful, Sara. It was as quick and as merciful as the situation allowed."

"You can't--" She wants to say he can't do this, he can't be the kind of man who considers torture acceptable as long as it's for a purpose. He can't be that man because she can't be the person she is and still care for someone like that. But she knows it's not that clear-cut. She knows Michael and she knows Alex; she knows that keeping a promise to someone they love is important. Important enough to allow them to do terrible things, if they have to. "You can't do that again."

"The situation shouldn't come to that again, but if it does--"

"You can't. Promise me. Promise me that no matter what, you won't do that. You won't inflict pain for personal satisfaction or for information, or for any reason. Promise me."

Alex gives a slow, resigned shake of his head. "It's not a good thing, Sara, but sometimes it's necessary."

"You need information? Shoot them high with morphine and see what they'll answer," Sara says, and Alex looks up sharply. "Lie to them, con them out of the truth. If anyone can think of other ways to get information, it should be you and Michael. But next time, if it comes to torture, I won't walk away. I won't let it happen. I don't care if I'm the only one standing against the lot of you, but I'm not going to let someone else be hurt like that."

Alex doesn't say anything. Sara sips her water, listens to the rain. It sounds heavier, but she can't hear any thunder, only the constant cacophony of raindrops hitting corrugated iron.

She drinks slowly, but the glass is empty before Alex replies.

"I promise it won't come to that." He sounds certain, decided, and it's so easy to believe him. "I promise we will find an alternative."

"And?" she asks.

He raises his eyebrows and blinks at her. "And, what?"

"And do you promise to stay?"

There's a shrug and Alex tilts his head to the side. The light catches on the narrow line of his jaw, the curve of his forehead, and shadows his eyes. "I need to talk to Michael first."

***

She catches a few hours of sleep but wakes up too early. It's barely dawn and she's tired, but she needs to use the bathroom.

On the way back, she hears Michael's voice outside. She pushes the door open a fraction and looks through the crack of light until she spots him. He's leaning back against the wall, jacket zipped up to his neck even though the rain has stopped now, and he's talking softly, saying something she can't make out.

Someone else steps forward, shoulder almost touching Michael's, but it's not until he speaks that Sara recognises it as Alex. "I'm not leaving. I'm not walking away from this without knowing you're safe."

Alex doesn't touch Michael but he steps forward, right into Michael's personal space. There's only an inch between them, and Michael swallows, catches his breath in the funny little way he does when Sara surprises him with a kiss. "Alex," Michael says, a warning and a plea mixed together.

"After Wyatt, I thought--" Alex's voice drops, and Sara can see his hands balled into fists. "He was the last link to Cameron, and--"

Now Michael touches, raises a hand to the back of Alex's neck and tugs him closer. Tucks Alex's head against his shoulder and wraps his other arm around Alex's back. He makes quiet shushing noises, and whatever Alex says against his shoulder is too muffled for Sara to hear.

There's a noise behind her, so Sara closes the door. It's Sucre stumbling from the bathroom back to his bed, eyes still half-shut with sleep, but Linc will be up soon. She goes to have a shower and gets dressed, all the while thinking about the broken whisper of Alex's voice, the miserable expression on Michael's face, as if Alex's pain hurt him too.

She thinks about the importance of promises, the way that love can tear you up, can make you do unspeakable things and can make you forgive them. The way it can give you the courage to be the person you should be, can give you hope and strength when you need it.

She makes herself coffee and starts fixing breakfast, and finds herself smiling at Linc and Sucre as they wander in and offer to help. She listens to the last sprinkles of rain, the sound hard to hear behind the pop of toast and sizzle of frying eggs.

They're about to sit down and eat, when Michael comes through and pours himself a cup of coffee. He pauses on the way past, catches her hand briefly, and says, "Alex is staying."

"Good," Sara says, and Michael smiles.


End file.
